


A Forthright Homecoming

by BetweenLines55



Series: Family Doesn't Always Mean Blood [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, James and Sirius are brothers but not by blood, James' parents are saints, M/M, Multi, Orion Black is a bastard, Remus Lupin is the most emotionally stable one, abuse mention, and Walburga even more so, and he's a werewolf, mental illness mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1969782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetweenLines55/pseuds/BetweenLines55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius has been beaten and burned off the tapestry at Grimmlaud. His last resort is James, who welcomes him home with open arms, because if Sirius has a home anywhere, it's with James. </p><p>Remus shows up too, and there's Wolfstar, but honestly it's about Sirius and James. </p><p>There are some triggers though, so please be careful everyone!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Forthright Homecoming

Sirius is not entirely sure at the time how he manages to get onto the Knight Bus. The adrenaline has kicked in, and even with the numbing effects of the salve Reggie had put on an hour ago going down, Sirius barely registers the pain. There is only one thought going through his head right now and that is the thought of, “JamesJamesJamesJames…” over and over in his head like a mantra.

He is not sure how big the Knight Bus’s area of service is, but apparently it’s large enough to take him to the country lane off which the Potter Manor resides, so that’s fortunate for Sirius. _Unfortunately_ , the driver stops the bus, pitching Sirius violently forward, saying, “This is as fa’ as I take ‘em.”

Which means Sirius will have to get off, if he means to go to James’, which he does.

It also means he has to walk the next mile and a half alone, in the rain, without any means of light.

He gets up with a groan (the rain coming down steadily is going to be shit for his bandaged back, but James means warmth and food and medicine) and waves a thanks to the driver. He pulls the hood up of his traveling cloak up a bit more (if anyone knows that the Black Heir is _running away_ …Sirius doesn’t entertain the end of this thought) as he exits the bus, grabbing his broom and reshouldering his bag again. At least the bag is waterproof, charmed ages ago to be waterproof and endlessly large inside by the man who made it and sold it to Sirius’ father.

 _Don’t think of your father_ , he tells himself as he walks. He’s maybe gone thirty paces, the bus engine getting fainter as they head in their opposite directions, and he’s positively soaked to the bone. The weather is too bad and it’s too dark to even think of flying.

It’s another twenty paces before Sirius spots his first landmark, a knurled old tree that he and James once had a rope swing attached to. It’s on the very edge of the Potters’ property, which gives Sirius a spark of courage to keep walking. He thinks of the rope swing to keep him going; about how it took forever to find the proper branch to hang such a thing from, how they had to scour for the proper board to make the swing seat from and the age it took to get the hole drilled through the middle, even with the help of Mr. Potter. They used that swing for years, the two of them, and when they were tired of swinging, the two would sit in the branches and drink from the bottles of lemonade Mrs. Potter would send them off with in the morning. That swing had been there until James, fresh from puberty and with twenty pounds of new muscle added, went to swing and had been dropped flat on his arse, thanks to a fraying rope.

Sirius had gotten a laugh out of that.

The swing gets Sirius through another twenty minutes or so, until the road starts to get more pebbly than muddy and the rocks start to hurt the soles of Sirius’ feet. He adds that to the growing list of problems he has, now that his back really starts to sting again, with some of the rainwater starting to seep through his cloak, into his shirt and under his bandages.

Idly, he wonders if turning into Padfoot would be bad for his back, or if he should risk riding his broom in this weather, though it would get him to the Potters’ faster. He doesn’t think that for long, though, before the welcoming yellow lights seen through the windows of Potter Manor are visible to Sirius from the road. Before he realizes what he’s doing, Sirius has broken into a run. The pack flops painfully against his back as he runs, but he barely registers it, the mantra of “James” having found its way into his head once more.

He’s stumbling up the steps to the door before he registers it, knocking on the door loudly, hoping, _praying_ for an answer. Its sort of late, he thinks, it was sort of late when he left, too, so Merlin knows what time it is now.

Finally, the door opens heavily to reveal a tired looking James Potter, and Sirius is very grateful it was him who answered the door. He’s dressed for bed, his hair messy as usual, and it smells wonderful in the house.

“Sirius!” He says, sounding surprised, which makes sense because Sirius lives in London and the Blacks do not like the Potters much and really, Sirius is usually good about writing ahead and for Merlin’s sake, why didn’t he Floo?

Sirius knows that’s what James is thinking, but can’t say out loud. “’Lo.” Sirius says in way of greeting. He takes once more step for the door and promptly collapses unconscious into James’ arms.

…

James considers himself a pretty physically fit bloke, but even he buckles under the dead weight of Sirius Black. What’s he doing here, anyways? He’s absolutely soaked, and…is that blood? Morgana, it is.

He yells, no, screams for his parents, who come down momentarily from their bedroom, wrapping their dressing gowns around themselves, as they are met with the sight of their son struggling under the weight of his best mate. His mother gets to them first, instructing him to get Sirius to the kitchen. His father follows with the things Sirius dropped, a pack of some sort and Sirius’ broom.

Following his mother’s instructions further, James clears off the wooden countertop set in the middle of the kitchen with a sweep of his arm, before hauling Sirius on top. He and his mother set to work to rid Sirius of his cloak, most undoubtedly ruined with all the rain. Beneath his cloak is a linen shirt, see through because of the water, and sticking moistly to Sirius skin and what appears to be bandages underneath. James watches in awe as his mother makes quick work of the shirt with a paring knife from the drawer. Seeing that he is more of a hindrance than a help at this point, James busies himself with picking up the things he knocked off the counter: a silver container than held cooking utensils and a bowl of fruit, which had the nerve to scatter itself during the trip to the floor.

From somewhere in the background he hears his mother cluck her tongue. He turns to find his mother standing over Sirius injured back, which looks like…

“Someone took a belt to him.” His mother says with finality. She’s a trained Healer and James has never been prouder of this fact than right now.

“His father, Orion.” James immediately offers. His mother shakes her head again, muttering to herself about improper parenting as she starts digging through the upper cupboards, looking for the proper potions and salves. Vaguely, James notices that it looks like someone tried to help Sirius’ plight, bandages fastened like that couldn’t have been wrapped by Sirius himself, though the gashes still look angry and red, and there’s raised welts that look like they must hurt like Hel.

His father enters now, rubbing his face as he announces, “Orion will not be happy about this.”

“It was Orion that drove him from the house!” Mum says. She gestures to Sirius’ back; his father whistles lowly.

“His mother, too, berates him all the time. Screams at him and tells him he’s an abomination. Always was threatening to take him off the family tapestry, like she did with Andromeda.”

“The one who married that Muggleborn fellow, Tonks, was it?” Dad asks. James nods, “Yeah, that’s the one, they had the Metamorphagus girl, Nymphadora I think.”

“Can she even _do_ that?” Mum says from her place by Sirius as she casts a drying charm over Sirius’ entire body. She starts to apply the salve to Sirius’ wounds which spread all across his shoulders and mid back.

“She’s the Black Matriarch, she can do almost whatever she wishes.” Dad says heavily. If this were any other time, if Sirius _wasn’t_ lying on their kitchen counter looking half dead, Dad would launch into a lecture about the Ministry’s inner workings, but apparently they’re all too tired for that.

Vaguely, James hears Mum and Dad talk about what to do with Sirius (“We can’t send him back.” “ _Obviously_ not.”) and one makes to send a house elf up to get a guest room ready for Sirius. James stops them, however, before they can.

“He can bunk with me.”

“James, he’s out cold and—”

“It’ll…it’ll be fine, Mum. I’d rather have him near if he wakes up. He’s prone to nightmares and he won’t know where he is and he’ll start panicking and—”

“I get the idea, Jamie. He can stay with you.”

James blushes a bit. He’s prone to rambling. Sirius tells him this frequently.

Going back to Sirius, Mum orders Dad and himself to hold Sirius up while she wraps bandages around his torso. It’s a difficult business to go around, especially since Sirius’ arms keep getting in the way, and he keeps slumping, but finally they all manage and now it’s just getting Sirius upstairs, undressed, and in bed. Honestly, compared to the last three-quarters of an hour, it sounds like a breeze.

It’s a bit of a struggle up the steps, but they make it well enough. They get him into bed, _James’ bed_ , easily and Mum helps strip him down to his shorts and James’ offers a pair of pajama bottoms for him to wear. James also produces a t-shirt from one of his dresser drawers, which Mum somehow gets over Sirius’ head. It takes them ten minutes or so until Sirius is comfortably settled in bed, on his stomach as not to disturb his bandages, and James is ready to join him.

Both Mum and Dad come to say goodnight; Mum kisses him on the cheek and Dad ruffles his hair and with a wave of her wand, James’ mother extinguishes the oil lamp in the room. James crawls into bed by the dim light coming in from the window. The crescent moon has decided to show itself after all, the rain has stopped for the moment and everything is practically at peace in the Potter household.

James falls asleep with Sirius’ head on his chest and one arm around his best mate. 

…

Sirius had a lot of strange dreams while unconscious. One of them included a stag and a whole bunch of steps. There was also a burning tapestry and a swinging locket that gave him chills, somewhere in the Blacks’ drawing room.

When Sirius finally wakes, he doesn’t know where he is. There are birds singing outside. Actual birds actually singing, so he knows he’s not in London anymore. It’s too quiet for London. The sheets he’s on are also not the ones on his bed, and his back is sore and his neck is stiff. At first he thinks Regulus has pulled some sort of joke on him (though really Reg should leave the pranking to his older brother) but at the thought of his brother, everything comes tumbling back to him and he lets out a sob before he can help it.

This sob makes his pillow move, his pillow which is realizes soon enough is actually James Potter’s torso, and soon Sirius is blinking water out of his eyes and looking blearily at James, who looks very concerned. Sirius is pretty sure James can’t see for shit without his glasses, but somehow James manages to get Sirius in his arms without accidentally getting his elbow into Sirius’ nose (appreciated immensely). He feels James breathing underneath his head, his heart beating in his chest and he _cries_. Sirius has never remembered a time where he cried more. He took all of his father’s beatings without a tear shed, his mother’s words never made him break down, but _now_ , he cannot help himself as he cries.

His sobs hurt his throat and head and chest, he’s crying so violently. He can feel snot and tears on his face as he presses close to James. James, for his part, doesn’t try to shush him, doesn’t try to say anything that might make Sirius stop crying for the moment. He lets Sirius let it out and that’s all that Sirius can ask him to do. At some point James passes him a hankie and Sirius takes it gratefully.

Sirius doesn’t know how long he cries, but he finally gets it all out of his system. When the tears finally stop he just sort of lies there on his side, looking off somewhere in the middle distance, while James straightens his tear-soaked shirt and tries to come up with something intelligent to say. Sirius doesn’t offer any help. He feels numb as it finally sinks in that he’s been _disowned_. He’s got nowhere he truly belongs now; not a house, not a family.

He curls up on himself. James still seems at a loss for words right now, but finally he leans over, kisses Sirius on the forehead and asks, close to Sirius’ ear, “You hungry, mate?”

Sirius shakes his head into the pillow. He feels James’ weight disappear from the bed, and soon the coverlet is being tucked around his shoulders. “Right then, well, get some sleep.” After a couple of seconds (James lingering, no doubt, to make sure Sirius is absolute about his decision to not come down to breakfast) of silence, Sirius hears James shut the door with a soft click behind him.

Sirius would go down to breakfast, if his stomach wasn’t so tied in knots. He feels like if he moves just the wrong way, he’s going to vomit violently all over James’ bed, which wouldn’t help anyone. He does however, sit up a bit, gingerly leaning against the pillows on James’ bed as not to hurt his back to much. He can see James’ room a bit better now; the messy piles of clothes at the end of the bed and hanging around his hamper, James’ broom and Holyhead Harpies jersey by the window, and Sirius’ meager belongings in the corner of the room, out to dry by the looks of things.

Carefully, he makes his way to his bag, reaching in to discover everything he’d thrown into the charmed bag was more or less dry. He took out one of his school books he had in there from last year, when he’d kept this bag at the bottom of his school trunk (ah, Merlin, that was still at home, or, well, Grimmlaud Place; it hadn’t been home for a long time) and opens the pages. The spine of the book (History of Magic, ugh) cracks wonderfully, and smells of Hogwarts and the dorm there, full of mulled wine he and James snuck in and those cakes Pete’s mum makes. Out of the book pages slips a photograph of Sirius and his brother, Regulus. The date on the back of the photo reads _Christmas Eve, 1972_ and its Sirius’ favorite possession.

The reason being so is mostly to do with the fact that it was taken by Andromeda, the last time she was allowed at a family gathering, meaning that he and Reg don’t look so staged, like when the family poses for portraits. (Because it’s not like this is the 20th century or anything.) Sirius has his arm around Reg, whose head is on Sirius’ shoulder and Reg is in the middle of opening one of his presents. They’re both in nice clothes, too nice for a family occasion really, but even then Sirius finds himself looking rumpled with his tie undone and his robes wrinkled. Since it was developed the wizarding way, the picture replays the two of them laughing, Sirius squeezing Reg’s shoulder every now and then, and looking enraptured by whatever Reg is opening.

The entire scene makes Sirius’ chest constrict. Before he comprehends what’s happening, he’s crying again and he can’t stop. He’s sobbing hard; it hurts as he clutches the picture of his brother, the only family he could call family in that wretched house, that he left to fend for himself with those horrible people they have to call parents.

“I-I’m coming back for you,” Sirius gasps between sobs, “I swear to Merlin, Reggie, _you are not alone_.”

He curls up into a fetal position on the floor of James’ bedroom, clutching the picture tight because if he lets go right now he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look Reg in the eye ever again, both the one in the picture and the one in the flesh and blood. The floor is uncomfortable and his stomach is rolling again and his back is absolutely on fire with his skin being stretched like this in this position and he’s never wanted to die so much as he has now.

When James finds him an hour later, Sirius is crying piteously, half out of his mind, next to a History of Magic textbook and a puddle of his own throw up, the picture of the Black brothers held tightly in his hands.

…

James Charlus Potter cannot remember a time when he was at such a loss of what to do. He’s the leader of the Marauders, or, he’s pretty sure he is, anyways. He’s the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, he’s the top in his class, and he can hex a Slytherin five ways with his eyes closed.

He cannot, however, figure out what to do about Sirius. Sirius has always been expressive, if somewhat dramatic even. Ok, a lot dramatic. Ok, Sirius Black is probably the biggest drama queen James has ever met, but that could also be the effects of inbreeding so who really knows?

But this, this is different. The boy he left upstairs is not Sirius, it’s a shell of the person Sirius usually is. James can’t even begin to imagine the emotional turmoil that Sirius is going through right now, with being beaten and having to _run away_ from the people that are supposed to protect and provide for you. Really, it makes James realize how lucky he is that his parents aren’t Pureblood maniacs’ intent on beating their beliefs into him.

Speaking of his parents, they’re sitting at the table in the kitchen; Dad is nursing a cup of coffee and Mum is pouring tea into a cup of her own.

“Good morning, poppet.” Mum says as she kisses his cheek. James’ smiles and lets himself be coddled, before he takes her up on her offer of coffee. Dad looks up from his copy of the _Prophet_ long enough to hand James the sports section and ask, “Is Sirius still asleep?”

James shrugs, “He was awake when I came down. He said he wasn’t hungry so I let him go back to sleep.”

“How is he handling things?” Mum asks quietly, buttering some toast now, “Does he seem…adjusted?”

“He…cried a lot.” James says. It’s odd that he feels guilty for telling his parents about Sirius’ breakdown. Sirius was loud and dramatic sure, but he wasn’t a very trusting fellow who didn’t like to show weakness. Not that James blamed him though, with Sirius growing up in such a family like his. What had happened upstairs though, had seemed private, like Sirius was expressing a part of himself that he only trusted with James. But of course he would trust him, James thought, they were practically brothers. Hel, they _were_ brothers.

But it was silly for feeling bad about telling his parents. His parents were only trying to help Sirius. Everyone in this house was only trying to help Sirius.

“Well, that’s supposed to be expected really, he’s been through so much in the past twelve hours.” Dad says, folding his paper, “I’ll go over to the Grimmlaud today and see what I can do about Sirius’ situation.”

“We _can’t_ take him back there!” James shouts, on his feet before he can help himself. A stern look from Mum makes him take his seat again, a bit bashfully, but his father is patient with his son as always. His father waits until he’s settled to continue.

“Of course, we’re not talking him back there. Walburga and Orion have made it clear they do not care for their eldest son. Your mother and I have talked and decided that trying to send Sirius back to Grimmlaud would be furthering the abuse along. As parents and people who care very much for Sirius, we cannot let this happen.”

“So, Jamie,” Mum starts when Dad pauses, “We’ve decided that the best place for Sirius is here, with us, with people who will take care of him.”

“He’s staying?” James is smiling so widely his cheeks hurt. Sirius, his _brother_ practically, is staying for real. James thinks to himself about the first signs of abuse the other Marauders saw on Sirius, back when they were as young as twelve. At first it was just some bruises across his ribs, and then it was abrasions on his cheek after he’d come back from Winter Holiday. It was the small things that all the Marauders noticed, how Sirius was quick to change the subject when his home life was brought up, how sometimes as he slept he’d cry out to “ _Please, stop_.” and “ _Not Reggie, please_.” There wasn’t much they could do, except be there for him. The Ministry wouldn’t touch the Blacks even if they were committing murder (which was up in the air, as of late.)

Even so, it was commonly known between all the Marauders that Sirius slept better with someone else sleeping next to him.

“Yes, love, of course he’s staying.”

“I just have to go talk Orion into giving me the rest of Sirius’ things, and signing some paperwork. Official stuff, but I think it’ll all be fine.”

“We could always threaten to go to the Prophet with Sirius’ story.”

“Dorea!” James’ father exclaims, “That’s practically blackmail.”

“Which is just how Walburga will play. You forget sometimes, love, that I am still a Black.”

James leaves his parents to talk, taking another piece of toast and downing the rest of his coffee. He’s runs back up the stairs two at a time to go eagerly tell Sirius the good news, about how he _won’t_ have to go back to that blasted place where they beat him and hurt him; about how he can stay with James now and have a home and won’t be punished for speaking his mind.

His bedroom door opens with a creak of old hinges and James finds his bed empty. His ears catch a pitiful little sob though and his eyes finally find Sirius in a heap on the floor, puddle of vomit next to him. He looks positively ill and even worse than when James left for breakfast. The first thing that comes to his mind to do is call a house elf and do something about the sick on his floor.

Lalai, the elf, comes quickly as called and a rag and some house elf magic that James knows better than to question at this point. Sirius barely looks up. As soon as the elf is gone with a, “You’re welcome, Master James.” James rushes over to his best mate and helps Sirius into a sitting position.

“Merlin, Siri, what’s wrong?” James says as he pulls Sirius into his arms. He brushes Sirius’ hair out of his face to he can actually see, and uncurls Sirius’ cramping fingers to reveal a photo of Sirius and his younger brother Regulus getting along, something that doesn’t happen much now of late as far as James knows. Sirius has finally stopped crying (again) but doesn’t feel the need to move from James arms. James doesn’t blame him. If he was in Sirius’ place, he wouldn’t have lasted as long as Sirius did.

“I’m a coward.” Sirius grits out, which is about the last thing James could ever think would come out of Sirius’ mouth. Before James can ask why in Morgana’s name he would think that, Sirius continues, “Reg’s back there, back with our parents, and I can’t _help him_ , Jamie, he needs me, but if I show up there again, Mother said…said…”

He’s starting to hyperventilate, so James takes hold of the hand that isn’t gripping the picture and holds it tight. “What did she say, Sirius, you can tell me. It’s alright, it’s alright, shh…”

“She said she’d kill me…right in the front parlor. My own mother’d rather have me dead than a blood traitor.” Sirius gasps, trying to breathe.

“You are _not_ a blood traitor, Sirius Black. You are a good man in a rotten blood line. And you don’t have to go back, Sirius. Mum and Dad want you to stay, _I_ want you to stay. Dad’s taking care of everything. You can stay the rest of the summer and for every time after that. Your bloody mother is never going to lay another hand on you again, and neither is your father.”

Sirius looks up at him, obvious relief on his face. His eyes are still wet and so is his face and he’s really just a right mess but Sirius deserves the right to be after all the shit he’s gone through. “You’re a good mate, James.”

“Of course I am.” He says, and after a minute he goes to ask if Sirius wants to go back to bed, only to find out that Sirius has passed out again, probably from sheer exhaustion of crying himself out. For a moment James wonders if he should wake him up to at least get some water and food in him, but maybe this is just a thing Sirius needs to sleep off. With a groan, he manages to pick Sirius up and get him into bed, even though Sirius probably weighs about the same as he does. Maybe more, because Sirius is a bit broader in the shoulders, and, James is loath to admit, a bit more muscular. It’s probably all the press-ups he does when he gets up in the morning.

As soon as Sirius is safely tucked into bed, James turns and leaves his bedroom. He cannot do this on his own, and the most emotionally stable person he can think of to help get Sirius through this is ironically the one who turns into a great, hulking wolf once a month.

James has got a Floo call to make.

…

When Sirius wakes up again he’s met face to face with the very battered cover of _Pride and Prejudice._ The only person Sirius knows that has a very battered copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ is Remus and why in Merlin’s name would he be here; maybe Sirius is just hallucinating or this is still a dream or maybe his emotional breakdown has finally gotten to his head.

“Oh, you’re up, hullo.” Says Remus. Well, maybe it’s not a dream. Sirius pinches himself anyways. It hurts.

“What are you…?” His voice sounds like death, Sirius notices. But then again, he’s been crying himself dry so that’s probably why. Remus produces a glass of water from the bedside table, which Sirius takes gratefully. As he drinks, he takes in his surroundings. Remus is wearing jeans and a green shirt and he’s got a pair of absolutely hideous argyle socks but they’re so _Remus_ , so Sirius takes comfort in them. They’re both on James’ bed, though Remus is on top of the covers and Sirius is under them and Sirius’ things are still in the corner and blast, he has a headache coming on.

Remus must sense the pain with those weird werewolf senses he has, the senses that can always tell when Sirius (any of the Marauders really, but especially him, Sirius has noticed) is in pain or discomfort. Maybe that comes with being part of Remus’ pack, but he certainly can’t complain when Remus also hands him a plate with a sandwich on it and says, “It’s probably because you haven’t eaten. Your blood sugar must be low.”  

Sirius doesn’t know what his blood sugar _is_ but the sandwich is chicken salad and he likes chicken salad so he eats it. It’s probably the first meal he’s truly had in the last 18 hours so soon the sandwich disappears and all that’s left is crumbs.

When he finishes, Sirius looks at Remus carefully and asks, “Not that I’m unhappy you’re here, Rem, but…why are you here?”

A ghost of a smile passes over Remus’ face and he says, “James Floo’d me, gave me a basic understanding of what happened, and asked if I could come for the week.”

“Is it because James is shit with emotions and stuff?”

“I think that’s what it was, yeah. How’s that been, by the way?”

“Not bad, he’s a good mate.” Sirius says. He leans against the pillows on James’ bed; his back is hurting less, but that’s probably because Dorea Potter is a saint who knows her way around healing charms. “Then again, it’s not been great. I’ve been disowned and I’m a right mess at this point. Anything else happen while I was unconscious?”

“Mrs. Potter came in and changed your bandages, and made you that sandwich, actually. And well, I showed up and have been reading while you slept. Oh, and Mr. Potter went to talk to your parents and Mrs. Potter sent James into town to get some groceries.” Remus says. His book is tented over one leg and he’s look at Sirius with kind eyes. Sirius keeps forgetting how _warm and caring_ everyone else is. James and Remus and Peter and Mr. and Mrs. Potter are all so accepting and supportive and really Sirius has always known just how shitty his parents are, but it’s finally sinking it that not everyone has to be like that.

“So it’s just us.” Sirius says.

“And Mrs. Potter,” Remus corrects, “I think she’s downstairs knitting.”

“Oh.” Sirius says, because he doesn’t know how else to respond.

They sit next to each other in silence for a while. Eventually, Remus goes back to his book, and Sirius just rests his head on Remus’ shoulder. At first, Sirius thinks that Remus is actually very involved in the story, but apparently he isn’t because he’s been staring at the same page for the past five minutes and Remus reads faster than anyone Sirius knows.

“Remus?”

“Sirius?”

“When you get… _depressed_ , during the fulls…does it feel like you just want to fall asleep for weeks on end and never get up?”

“Sometimes. Is that how you feel now? Like you just want to crawl into bed and never get out?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius also feels like he really wants to kiss Remus, but he’s been feeling like that for a while now. Ever since the beginning of fifth year when his mind really should’ve been on pranking and OWLs and the like, and it was actually on Remus and Remus’ wellbeing and becoming an animagus for Remus and really Sirius had been screwed now for a while. Sirius always makes jokes about James being totally whipped for Lily, but in all honesty, Sirius would get down on his hands and knees and kiss the ground Remus walked on if that’s what Remus wanted.

Sirius doesn’t say any of that though.

“It’s not a cure, but…” Remus trails off as he reaches over the side of the bed and produces his overnight bag. He rifles around in it for a while before producing a bar of Muggle chocolate. Remus breaks off two pieces, hands one to Sirius, and pops his own piece in his mouth.

The chocolate is good, Sirius notices, not as good as Honeydukes but there’s little that’s like Honeydukes. Even so, it starts a kind of warmth through his veins and Sirius is happy enough to snuggle back up against Remus. He half wants to turn into Padfoot, but he probably shouldn’t be trying anything like that when Dorea has done so much to make sure his insides don’t become his outsides. He settles for awkwardly snuffling against Remus’ shoulder, but Remus doesn’t seem to mind (he never does) and lets him be.

About ten minutes later, Remus says in a quiet voice, “If there’s anything I can do for you, Sirius, just tell me.”

Sirius really shouldn’t push his luck. He’s already got Remus this close and warm against him.

“Would you kiss me?”

He pushes it anyways.

There’s several stressful moments when Sirius is sure Remus is going to deny his request, but finally, Remus says, before leaning close, “I want to make sure you know that I’m not taking advantage of you.”

Sirius reflects that really this is a very Remusy thing for him to be saying right as he kisses someone but Sirius doesn’t reflect for long because Remus’ lips are on his and Remus tastes like chocolate and his hair is so soft between Sirius’ fingers and he wishes they had done this much sooner.

When they finally pull away from one another, Sirius is much closer to Remus when they started. Remus’ book fell to the floor at some point while they were kissing but Remus doesn’t seem to mind so Sirius doesn’t either.

Against his lips, Remus mumbles, “Would you be my boyfriend, then?”

Sirius smiles for what seems like the first time in a while, “Of course, Rem. But only if you kiss me again.”

“Well,” Remus says with a dramatic air somewhat unlike him, “Only if I must.”

Sirius presses their lips together, and Remus’ hand has just crept under the edge of his t-shirt when the door swings open and their interrupted by one James Potter.

The two on the bed spring apart, and Remus looks positively abashed, but James’ face just breaks into a wide smirk saying, “Oi, ‘bout time, you two. Just don’t have sex on my bed, or worse yet, while I’m _in_ bed.” He takes this statement as preamble to crawl over both Remus and Sirius to the small expanse of unoccupied bed by the wall, collapsing down with a sigh.

“Bloody Muggle groceries.” James mutters into the bed.

Sirius and Remus promptly erupt into laughter.

…

Dinner is a warm affair. There’s a roasted chicken and vegetables and fresh rolls and Mum has allowed a glass a wine each for Sirius, Remus and himself. James sits across from Remus and Sirius, who are both looking like happy, blushy idiots. He only wishes that Pete isn’t in Spain with his mum right now because James is sort of missing someone to roll his eyes with at the obvious affection Remus and Sirius are displaying.

Remus has been given one of the guestrooms for the rest of his stay, and that’s where James is betting Sirius is going to end up tonight. James does his best to suppress a smirk.

Dad talks about how it went with Orion over dinner, (“Do not take offense, Sirius, but your father is an incredibly unpleasant man.” “Oh, none taken, Mr. Potter. He’s a right bastard.” “Sirius, language, please.” “Sorry, Mrs. Potter.”) and getting the rest of Sirius’ things into the manor. There’s not much, just mostly school things and a few personal items such as a Black signet ring and a couple of photos.

“You also been signed complete control of all the money your Great Uncle Alphard left you in his will, although I will be the one left with the key to the vault until your 18th birthday.” Dad continues. Sirius never mentioned the passing of his Great Uncle Alphard, but apparently, the man had been loaded and Sirius had been in his good graces from day one.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter, for going through all the trouble of doing this.” Sirius says after a mouthful of chicken. It always surprises James in the rare moments that he’s seen Sirius as proper company, about how utterly polite Sirius can be when he wants. But that could also be the natural “Black charm” he swears is a real thing; perhaps he just turns the charm up a bit so he doesn’t just come off as a pretentious, self-centered git like he usually does. In any case, Dad smiles at this, “No trouble at all, Sirius.”

Sirius grins, looking at James and then to Remus and to Mum and Dad. He looks content for the first time since he arrived.

As they’re all finishing up supper, Mum gets up suddenly and says, “Oh, I baked a cake for Sirius’ arrival.” She shuffles up from the table and Remus offers to help her do the dishes like the polite werewolf he is. This causes Dad to say, “Oh, the paperwork, Dorea, how did I forget that?”

“It’s in your briefcase, dear,” Mum calls over her shoulder.

Now it’s just Sirius and James at the table, looking at each other and grinning. James takes his half-full wine glass and raises it for a private toast.

“To your homecoming, Padfoot.”

“To my homecoming, Prongs.”

“And many more.” James finishes.

The clink their glasses together.

They drink.

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> “Hel” is spelled like that for a reason. I’m always thinking that Wizards don’t exactly worship pagan gods, but they at least recognize them. Hel is the Norse goddess of the underworld, Helhiem. 
> 
> Wanting to sleep for excessive amounts of time is a sign of depression, and a lot of anxiety attacks can lead to crying and a complete shutdown, like the one Sirius experienced. I’m not romanticizing mental illness at all, as a person who struggles with depression and anxiety, but I’m just trying to work them into my writing and emphasize that they can affect anyone. 
> 
> Join me on tumblr @ siriusscrewsblokes.tumblr.com


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